


Lust (and nothing else).

by fearless_seas



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Flirting, Friends With Benefits, Hair-pulling, M/M, Pining, Shameless Smut, Swimming Pools, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-16 09:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14808488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: Nelson Piquet has rode and been ridden by no less than five world champions--there must be a record for that, right?





	1. Chapter One | Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended as a warm up fic but it turned into a monster. Fun wise this is the most fun I've ever, ever had writing a fic (which is weird because I've been writing since I was seven, ha). As usual, the whole fic is finished an written up already so I'll just updating it over the next couple of days. I've never had more fun writing a personality than Nelson Piquet.

          Quite often enough, Nelson Piquet found himself bracing his hands in a dirty bathroom stall with someone behind him whispering dirty things into his ears as they fuck him (or vice versa). Does he necessarily enjoy having sex in public places or public toilets for that matter? No; but does it happen more often than it should? Absolutely. One could blame it on his voracious sexual appetite but he’ll deny that because in truth of the matter, it is not unquenchable. He cannot put the blame on anyone but himself for how he gets into these types of situations. Maybe he’s insane, but then again, he’d never turn down a good blow. He’s ridden, and been rode, by no less than five world champions--there must be a world record for that, right? It may be hard for you to imagine but believe him when he says he did because he has much more sensory than  _ just _ sight to account for it. 

  
  
  



	2. Chapter Two | Emerson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirty bathrooms, side burns man and his protege.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God rest my soul. Portuguese is not one of my languages, let me know if anything needs to be edited. Translations at the bottom.

**\------ The Mentor ------**

 

          Emerson Fittipaldi had been teasing him for several years but now that it was Nelson’s first full season in Formula One, and being a rookie brought a type of innocent charm to you, he found that it was increasing. Emerson would wrap an arm over his shoulder and pull him into the crook of his elbow, leaving him there longer than one naturally should. Perhaps they’d quickly run a hand over his chest as they passed which sent little shivers down Nelson’s spine. Occasionally they’d brush a hand over the small of his back, the nails practically tantalizing his waist line. Sometimes, just to coax him on, Nelson would remove his shirt slowly and lay himself over the hood of his car on his back until greedy eyes bore too long and a shadow passed over his frame. He'd tilt his head slowly up, pretending he wasn't waiting for company. Emerson was always standing there, hands perched on his hips and his sunglasses guarding over his eyes as if to hide the hooded glint of lust that darkened an already consuming abyss of ebony.

          “Você vai se queimar,” Emerson shifted his footing, crouching down and stealing a seat beside the vehicle without invitation. They sought chemistry, that’s why they feather-light trail their fingers up the other’s tanned arm as it dangles over the side. Nelson was quite used to this by now: the teasing; it definitely drove the older man mad. More than once he’d catch them staring from across the paddock, the only difference between them is Nelson never quickly shot his head away as though to pretend he wasn't doing it at all.

          He tugs his shades down and takes joy in how much they are fretting and fidgeting about. “Você age como meu pai,” he drew it out over parched and pouted lips. Emerson practically trembled with pleasure and Nelson smirked slightly, the temperature rising in his lower stomach. He did end up getting that sunburn he was warned about, all because he had the desire to flirt with their sanity.

          He was twenty-six, foolish and perhaps a tad high on how one man could make him feel this much power. But he wasn’t completely innocent: Emerson frequently patted his thighs with an open palm and told Nelson to prop his legs up on him. They would then, in bare secrecy, allow their hand to rub tracing circles into his ankle, then his knee and if he was wearing shorts, _god_ , most certainty those aching fingers ended up between his inner thigh eventually. Nelson can sense himself lowering, his lips parted as little shocks of pleasure swarm down from his surface. They’re getting closer, closer and closer until Emerson’s eyes are only on him and they have a grin from how much this unwinds the younger man. If only they could, if only--of course Alex Ribeiro decided to enter the garage at that moment and Nelson reluctantly springs out of the room with Emerson watching his backside like prey as he exits.

          All this comes to head eventually, of course. Interlagos, 1979, Nelson is buzzing, livid and steaming against the cement wall. Ending his second race of his first season with a collision was not making a good impression on him. Niki is just as annoyed over their blown gearbox, but as can be expected, they do not even show a thing to the surface. Emerson approaches him after the race with sweat glistening on his collar in the shine of afternoon Brazilian sun while his racing suit is hanging half off of his waist. Being a two time world champion and finishing in eleventh was certainly not satisfactory, but then again, at least he managed to finish the race. They pause beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and Nelson’s shaking can be felt through the other’s skin. All these subtle touches cannot last any bit longer, the agony of waiting is _unbearable_.

          “Você está bem?”, Emerson is attempting conversation. He reaches down and picks up Nelson’s hand gently and turns it over and over in his grasp. He shakes his hand, poking the dots of maroon bruising rising on the surface of his knuckles. They are acting as though he were a present to be unwrapped in order to reach the pages of his soul. It could’ve been anger, desire or anything other than that but an entity about settling behind the wheel of a car and having the squeeze of adrenaline in your veins is an occasion one cannot quite explain properly. Nelson quickly casts his eyes towards the garage where Niki is disrobing. When his teammate's back turned for an instance, he stretched out a hand and wrapped it over Emerson’s wrist, ripping him away from the wall.

          “Onde estamos indo?”, they finally asked with a low, wavering voice while being led on. Nelson recessed in his tracks, his eyes rested on Emerson’s and they huffed out a breath of frustrated air. His neck snapped both directions to check for company before he grabbed their shoulders and shoved their body against the secluded wall, wrapping his lips over his. They pulled apart and Emerson’s eyes were wide as Nelson quickly straddled his legs farther apart. It is too much and both are hungry for more. 

          He grabbed their jaw roughly, noses brushed together. “Me foda,” he hissed sharply. Stupid and reckless of him (always), his first action was to lead Emerson into the bathroom stalls. The dirty, grimy mirrors followed them as they made their way to the last door on the end. As soon he pushed it open with his foot, Emerson was already grinding up behind him and leading his hands into the front of Nelson’s pants. Nelson instinctively tilted his head back as Emerson pressed eager lips into the column of a vulnerable neck. He let out an audible moan that caused a hand to be slapped over his mouth. It was safe to say that he couldn’t remember exactly when his pants fell wrapped around his ankles and he was angled with Emerson spitting into his hand behind him. In their usual suave style, the older man attempted to slow it down, perhaps to make it a slight more intimate but how intimate can one get when you are getting fucked in a tight bathroom stall and this man is making you practically _beg_ for relief.

          “Deus, depressa!”, he cried at one point right before Emerson spiked into him and he was sent white knuckling the flimsy plastic wall in front of him. Nelson’s knees buckled at the end and Emerson had to wrap an arm against his stomach to keep him standing. With hands like those, one could finally discover the difference between need and want. The warmth of his hand roaming over his chest as he reached under his shirt was tearing him apart. Emerson finished first, one last push and then he had reached around to stroke Nelson out of it. They offered him back to his home to shower (and Nelson said yes). 

          The faint touches continued after that. For perhaps a year until Emerson retired he’d invite him over to his motorhome or hotel room, sliding a bit of auburn alcohol across the table until he’d grow comfortable enough that everytime Nelson passed, Emerson was slapping his ass. Occasionally, they’ll forget their place on the paddock and he’d grab Nelson’s arm, tugging him towards him and seating him on his lap.

          Emerson Fittipaldi certainly knew how to touch him where words couldn’t reach.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you if you comment! I reply to each one and treasure them, ha. 
> 
> PORTUGESE TRANSLATIONS:  
> Você vai ter sol queimado = You'll get sunburnt  
> Você age como meu pai = You act like my father  
> Você está bem? = Are you alright?  
> Onde estamos indo? = Where are we going?  
> Me foda = Fuck me  
> Deus, depressa!= God, hurry!
> 
> Edit: thanks to the commentor for help on Portuguese!


	3. Chapter Three | Niki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One room, a demanding/lovesick Austrian and Nelson out there fixing relationships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask what I'm doing I have no idea

**\------ The Teammate ------**

 

          Nelson had a habit of screwing with his teammate the serious minded Niki Lauda. At least he can say that at one point in his life he did make _the Rat_ laugh. Usually when the Austrian was in bad humor, he tended to isolate himself (more so than he already usually did) and pretend mercifully as though nothing were the matter (although everyone but him could admit that was not the case). This time, however, they were glaring blankly at the wall with their chin resting in one open hand and filling with the end of their gray jeans. They had a stiff somewhat painful expression as if they were replaying something behind their eyes to cause themselves a greater agony. Niki was trying to fill a void, a pocket of restless pain left empty due to the absence of another. Nelson noticed this. Rubbing the motor oil off his hands with a greasy towel, he wiped his hands off on his thighs. He pretended not to be watching, but, as per usual, nothing could escape the microscopic scrutiny of Niki Lauda.

          They lifted their eyes and shot them in his direction. “Why are you staring?”, he narrowed his vision and leaned farther back in the lounge chair while waving up a hand in the air.

          Nelson shrugged, inclining up against the work bench as the last mechanic left the garage for lunch leaving a mess of parts and spots of supplies over the area. “You are acting different today,” he replied.

          “Ha-ha,” Niki sarcastically chided in response, turning his head away. They mumbled something under their breath and clenched their jaw. “I am having issues,” he admitted quietly with the same stiff demeanor as usual.

          “Trouble in paradise?”, Nelson smirked and stepped closer, grabbing at a vacant chair by the back and twisting it around to where he was sitting it in backwards with his knees facing Niki.

          “You could say that,” he rocked his head back and forth, snapping off his glasses and setting them on the table beside him. His teal eyes stared out towards the track and Nelson could read the silent determination quivering behind shiny irises. Their knees were touching now and Niki peered up curiously, tilting his head to the side. Nelson couldn't tell if he was teasing or Niki was luring him in--both would end in the same consequence. Neither of them were particularly excited for pre-season testing but what else can a racer do? It’s December and Niki tugs at the collar of his sweater, letting it farther on his bare neck, his cap guarded his eyes. This was perhaps because he himself would rather not be beneath scrutiny or studied as an organism under a microscope. Nelson couldn’t help himself, they were curious. Niki rose from his seat, and the other stood as well, placing a firm hand on their shoulder.

          “I can help you with that.”

          What can he say? He is twenty-nine and believes that he can get away with everything. He survived the stern expression Niki shot him before the softness gave way and now a tongue is darting out between their lips. _Well that was quick_ , he thought when the collar of his shirt is grabbed between curled fingers. It is safe to say Niki was most certainly were not thinking of him when Nelson locked the door and immediately pressed a cupped palm to the front of their jeans. It was freezing and the cold brush of their fingers against his skin sent shockwaves of electricity to his core. Even after Niki had his back to the wall and Nelson was pounding into him, they somehow  _still_ found time to complain.

          “Not fast enough,” they croaked in between breaths as their nails began to dig into Nelson’s upper arm. “Wrong spot, aim better,” disgruntledly, he did the best he could until Niki opened his eyes once again, “Has not anybody taught you what you can be doing with your hands?” The Brazilian ignored them and the German swears tumbling from their breath and clasped his mouth to a burn mark on their shoulder. They swallowed and their mouth parted unintentionally. He could swear he was close because his counter couldn’t control the tempo with which his breath was falling over their skin. Suddenly Niki gasped, his teeth coming forward and scraping over the surface of Nelson’s shoulder blade. Eventually they have their head thrown back against the wall as Nelson buckles his pants back up and turns to wash his hands. “Still not as good as James…”, they muttered and Nelson rolled his eyes into the mirror at himself.

          “You are honestly complaining right now?” He came forward leaving Niki behind as they attempted to calm the trembling in his thighs and control their air. He unlocked the door, turning the knob and pulling it open. Just before stepping out he poked his head back into the room, “Make James say he is sorry for whatever he did and then have him fuck you senseless to make up for…”, he rubbed his chin in his measly struggle to find the right words, “...whatever we just did.” He was smiling, shaking his head as he left. Niki did it only to prove something to himself and Nelson didn’t mind going along for the ride (if it meant the Austrian hobbling around the track for a next few hours, it was worth it when they got on the phone with James).

          Niki Lauda clearly knew what it was to have something forbidden. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you comment, thank you ;) I read and respond to every, single one.


	4. Chapter Four | Alain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A driver's strike, swimming, one room, a whole lot of drivers and a locked hotel bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sinning once again.

**\------ The Friend ------**

 

Oh god, Nelson knew things were serious when Niki Lauda is calmly attempting to pace himself back and forth in the garage while cursing beneath his breath. It was a sudden toss but all the sudden a package of white papers is flying at his face and he launches back as it drops into the dust at his feet. He looked up and Niki has his hands on his hips, rubbing a palm furiously over his jaw.

“Bullshit,” they hissed, “Bullshit.”

Nelson sighed, leaning over and grabbing the stack below him. He spread the papers farther apart by rolling them and began swatting it over his flushed cheeks. Growing up in the thick of Southern America doesn’t exactly mean he is used to heat more, it simply means he is able to adapt to it better than most. Nothing is preparing him right now, or ever, for the dry, humid-less air of South Africa. “I do not think killing me will make it better,” he chuckled, perking up his brows and throwing his neck back.

“Fuck off,” Niki snapped. The buzz of the mechanics is giving Nelson a headache and he pressed a finger as far as possible into his right temple as though it may relieve the pain. “Would you like to be held down to a team for three years?”, they buzzed, humming under their breath when Nelson rolled his eyes in exhaustion. They managed to calm them self because the frank expression of their eyes contains no more venom. “Have you signed it?”, they broke the silence to the other’s dismay.

Nelson pinched his nose, “What?”

Niki frowned, “The super-clause,” he clarified, gesturing to the sweaty papers Nelson was fanning about in his right hand. Nelson shrugged and they took this as an answer. “Good,” for the first time all day they appeared joyful, bounding over to the corner and back again to ease nervous energy in their limbs, “Because only five other drivers on the grid have.”

Nelson paused, shutting his eyes and indulging him (while thinking of the consequences of just kicking him out), “Who?”

A devious glint flashed over their pupils for a stand-still moment, “Who else is angry, Belgian and selfish?”

“Well,” Nelson sat up with a smirk, “If you factor out the Belgian part, it nearly sounds like you, doesn’t it?”

Niki only growled and pushed him off the work bench as he passed to leave. They crashed into Alain Prost who had filled the doorway seconds earlier as they left. Alain shoved his hands into his short’s pockets awkwardly and sauntered over. Nelson fixed himself on the floor, folding his eyes up to the shorter man who studied him pitifully like a child.

They threw a thumb over their shoulder, “What was that?”

Nelson smiled sarcastically, “Our dear Niki is planning a revolution!”

Alain Prost was in his third season in Formula One and he certainly had made an impression not only on the entire paddock (for better or worse) but upon Nelson Piquet himself. A little scrawny and sharply boned at the elbows, it was not a secret that their most prominent feature was the out-of-bent shape of their nose. You couldn’t pin him down into one character because there were three ways of looking at him. The first was that he was naive, a boy with big dreams and daddy’s money financing his every whims (which was not the case at all); the second was that he’d be better off with a suit tie choking off the neck and a receding hairline behind the counter of a bank; and the third was only viewed when they were bent with an arched elbow and a tranquil expression. It was a languid manner with which their brows narrowed on their wide forehead into an almost pained expression of serenity that made Nelson’s hand itch for a paint brush. Now that he thought it, perhaps this man had more effect on him then he was letting on.

 

_______________________

Wednesday night Niki slapped his arm as he sat down at the corner table Nelson, who was sitting alone, had occupied. There was a sparkle in his eye and the younger man grasped for his drink as if to prepare himself for what was to eventually come. Niki didn’t seem to notice, caught up in his own fervency as he leaned back, crossing him arms over his chest on the wooden chair. For some odd reason, Nelson hadn’t noticed that Didier Pironi was standing there too with his hands formally behind his back as the perfect little soldier that he was.

Didier waited until Niki closed in to speak before taking a seat quietly, or cautiously, across from the table. “We are boycotting practice tomorrow,” the Austrian announced and Nelson leaned in closer to catch his lowered voice from the loud hotel bar.

Nelson appeared amused at best and teased a lazy finger over the rim of his glass. “Is that right?”, he mused, only half listening.

Niki scowled, throwing up a hand and slugging him in the shoulder as he grimaced. “Take this seriously,” he growled. 

Nelson shot a hand to cover the spot on his shoulder and Didier was puzzled. He ignored him and brushed shoulders with the man on his side, “I am!”, he put up his hands in defense, “believe me, dear one, I am!” He swallowed and Didier eventually spoke, the accent making it quite difficult to hear.

“The super clause,” he sputtered out, brushing a bit of the straw blonde hair behind the shell of his ears. “To argue the super clause,” he nodded as if he’d made a drastic contribution to the conversation. The tone of room changed in an instance and Nelson felt as though he were being interrogated beneath shiny, blinding spot lights as the bar glow was starting to make an impression on his temper.

Growing a little moody and sensing a bit of irritation he gulped the rest of his drink, dropped a few foreign bills on the table-top next to the fake, decorative flowers before patting Niki’s shoulder. “And how are you going to do that? Solidarity, it has never been that impressive.” Not even in the days of Jackie Stewart and Graham Hill, the independence of opinions among drivers has always been an issue for as long as anyone could remember. Petty humor as he coined it (his friend agreed).

They grinned, the crystal of their eyes gliding out over his cheekbones, “A bus.”

The Brazilian walked away shaking his head. Of course he didn’t believe him.

 

_______________________

 

Morning of Thursday practice he threw on a pair of blue shorts, a beige t-shirt, his pale sneakers and scraped his fingers through his hair as he exited his door with the sun finally risen on the horizon. He tossed his backpack into the passenger seat of his sponsored car, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and drove to the track. He had all but virtually forgotten what Niki had spoken of last night. Grumpy, malcontent and tired, it didn’t cross his mind the commotion that was happening until he nearly ran over a reporter sprinting across the road in front of the parking lot. He rolled his window down, shouting just a few obscenities at their turned back as they scampered off. The clouds were absent and the dry heat was already forming beads of sweat underneath his brow.

            That’s when he saw it, while still half asleep and twisting the key out from his vehicle: a bus, the actual bus. It was a public transit bus, a bold mark in the center of a sea of reporters with a red top and another crimson stripe circling about the center as if a mindless toddler had designed it. And among this mess? Nelson sauntered from the parking lot, leaving his bag and (if he recalls properly) forgetting to lock his car. Niki had his hands raised over his head, standing on the top step of the open bus with hickory, bell-bottomed pants and a raven polo shirt. As he came closer, Nelson shoveled his hands into his pockets and found a lump growing in the hollow of his throat.

Niki’s eyes fell over him as soon as he approached, the penetration of his stare radiating over the distance. He gestured, beckoning him over with a hand and when he got there, Niki’s hand reached forward and grabbed at the breast of his shirt. “Didn’t I tell you?”, he beamed, resting an elbow against the post of the opened door with obvious pride. The shouts of the media became muted for a second as their eyes met, “Get in the bus, Piquet, you are the last one.”

Each would have it no other way.

It felt strange, climbing up the steps of the bus and his eyes coming over the rows of double seats lining all the way to the back. There were more people than he thought, it had to be at least eighteen including himself. He blinked for a moment as the creak of the doors came up behind him and Niki patted his back-side as if to tell him to take a seat. He thought of stealing the seat next to Carlos Reutemann (but Nelson knew he’d end up tossing him out the window to get him to shut up) so he settled for the next available option: Alain Prost. Alain had his forehead against the window, his breath tumbling in gentle fogs against the slicked glass. He didn’t inquire for the seat, he slipped into it and his bare thighs stuck to the other’s as they collided. They owned a serious expression, drawn and amble over their visage as if they were as artist studying science in the air about him. The usual tight knit of their brows made him soften.

They spoke eventually, quietly and almost trembling over the bombastic qualities of Rene seated a few rows back. Their hand rested on their knee, trailing little circles of clarity into the skin. “When you said Niki was planning a revolution,” he shook his head, “this I did not think of.”

Nelson angled his head towards him, tilting it slightly to catch his solid, stark expression. “It is an adventure,” he mocked; he tried.

Alain turned his head from the window, “We could be banned.”

“All eighteen of us?”, he snorted, “there wouldn’t be F1 without us.”

They exhaled, “We are violating our contracts.”

“Would you prefer they keep violating us instead?”, Nelson blinked slowly before reaching out his hand and placing it upon Alain’s. His surface was surprisingly cold despite the heat and the tiny jolt of change rattled a spark up from his palm. “Look, Alain,” he raised his hand until it was curled over their wrist and the Frenchman’s brown eyes shot down to the interaction. They coiled back in their seat and crossed their legs, folding a hand beneath their jaw. “Think realistically, they will threaten us, yes, but nothing will come of it.” He squeezed his hand, “Jochen Mass and Bernie Ecclestone can eat shit for all we care.”

The bus began to move and Nelson shot an arm over Alain’s chest to stop him from racing into the seat in front due to the sharp movement. They swallowed nervously and moved their hand to their lap to cover it. The high shine of merlot on their cheek bones made Nelson simper. Nobody quite knew where they were going but with the thrill of rebellion swimming in their gut, they were unconquerable. He even got Alain to smile for something not involving cameras.

 

_______________________

 

          The bus was driven through a picturesque landscape until they reached the hotel in Johannesburg.

“Niki, what exactly are we doing here?”, Nigel asked, crossing his arms over the head of Nelson’s seat as the bus came closer to a stop in a dusty parking lot.

Perhaps tired of speaking Niki only shrugged and shot a look at Didier who nodded back and stood up in his seat. “Protest,” was all he called back.

Nigel for some odd reason didn’t ask for clarification and simply turned to Michele and pulled the corners of his mouth down. For a moment it was silent and there was scarce a movement. Annoyed, Nelson rose with Alain attempting to tug at the end of his shirt to rip him down into his seat. “Well,” he rubbed his hands together, “Are we going to protest or what?” There was a unanimous bought of hollers that rung out through the thin aluminum walls.

 

_______________________

 

Protesting; that was one way that they could put it. As soon as they exited the bus (a group of sweaty, race drivers in short shorts and tight shirts made a scene) they descended upon the hotel. It was a three building resort, a crystal pool and desk chairs lighting up against the rising late morning sun. It was comical, eighteen grown men gathering next to a pool waiting for the first person to do something while basking in the glow. Alain remained at his side and swatted at a knat as it buzzed by his face. Keke Rosberg was the first to tear his shirt, throwing it up against a lounge chair and slipping into the pool. It didn’t take long but all the other drivers were suddenly tugging their shirts over their head and hopping in. Niki kept back, seating himself in the shade until a pale-faced Didier approached him and whispered something into his ear. Niki scrunched his brows and waved him away with a hand.

“I’ll be back,” Nelson nodded at Alain who took a seat. Nigel had started a game of water polo with a makeshift net making up two umbrellas posed on their side of the length. Hands shoved into his back pockets, Niki hardly even noticed his arrival, only managing a frown when Eddie splashed water onto the lapel of his pants. He stole the seat beside his teammate, wrapping his hands over the arms of it. He waited a moment, almost expectantly while shouts from the water radiated over the echo building. “You know,” he cleared his throat, “I have to give it to you, you really—“

“—We may get banned for life,” Niki blurted out.

This caught Nelson off guard, it fell into the pit of his stomach like a lump of silver. “What?”, he blinked.

Didier was at the bar running his hands over the back of his neck across the courtyard while awaiting a tray of drinks. Their limbs were tight with anxiety. “If we continue with this, they are threatening to ban us for life,” he explained.

The thought can over him. “And?”, this turned Niki’s head and he stared at him through the hood of his round sunglasses, “You really believe they are going to do that? It is impossible.”

Niki shook his head, pulling his red cap farther down, “No, of course I don’t, you think I am stupid?” Typical Niki. “They will,” he gestured towards the pool and the drivers there as Bruno held Andrea’s head beneath the water, standing on his shoulders. “Especially the younger guys, they might believe it.”

Nelson stuck out his tongue, “We could beat them up and steal their lunch money to make sure they don’t leave.”

Niki rolled his eyes and scoffed soundlessly. The tension in their shoulders had eased slightly and they leaned their head farther back into the chair and drifted a hand angelically though the soft rays of sun coming through the clear, blue sky. For a moment nothing could be wrong. “Bernie is giving you and Riccardo an ultimatum.”

Nelson slowly turned his head towards Riccardo who was sitting on the edge with Jacques and shrugged. “We both brought us into this knowing possible results,” he stood up and Niki followed him as he treaded away, “For now we can afford a little fun, hm?”

Silently Niki did agree but he stayed quiet.

Alain was still sitting in the same spot when he returned. His face in concentration as he gawked out over the pool and bit into his nails. 

“Having lots of fun, I see,” Nelson made fun and Alain glanced up, running a tongue over his chapped lower lip. The older man chewed on his inner cheek before tearing off his shirt and laying back into the sun with his hands behind his head. He felt Alain’s eyes trail over his abdomen and the impressions of his chest as though he were trying to understand the topography of his anatomy down to the rawest details. Nelson parted an eye, squinting to the sun and folding his gaze to Alain who blinked weakly and quickly pretended they were only pushing their mass of brown curls up on their forehead. He did on purpose but he passed a bit of sunblock to Alain and asked him to put onto his shoulders. They hesitated but when they were finished, Nelson winked, put his shirt over his face and smiled deviously.

 

_______________________

 

Two hours later, after Didier had brought back a round of drinks, and the attention to the pool had dwindled as lunch time came around, Nelson rolled on his side to find Alain on his back with his shirt off and the groves of his spine poking through into the sunlight. He ignored the churn of energy in his stomach and flipped onto his back to get up. Carlos noticed his rise and waved his hand over, holding up a plate into the air. Nelson shook his head and motioned an over the shoulder thumb towards the pool. Despite the sunscreen he felt charred and the touch of his skin was burning to the touch. Passing by, Alain stirred at that moment. Nelson didn’t hesitate, he inclined and landed a hand on the Frenchman’s lower back, his pinky brushing up against his ass. Alain jumped slightly, moving his gaze upwards and meeting Nelson’s wide grin with a confused look. The bridge of their nose crinkled as they sat up.

“Do you want to come?”, he asked and spanned a look towards the water. Alain hesitated for a moment before agreeing. “It is too bloody hot,” Nelson croaked as they came to the edge. He kneeled down, lowering himself slowly into the water before dunking his head. The water was freezing, in a good way, and it made little shivers tremble up the shafts of his ribs. A brush of cold breeze met his bare shoulders as he shot up through the surface, flitting the hair out of his eyes.

Alain managed a snicker, sitting with his legs in the water and his shoulder arched back, “You look like a dog.” Nelson ignored this, wading for a second until he stroked closer and put a hand on his friend’s knee. They jolted from the shock of the chill, “Damn you, you are shivering!”, he cried, attempting to push his hand off. Nelson only grinned, splashing him and throwing up another hand and placing it on his other knee. Perhaps unintentionally, his hand ascended and his thumbs poked into their thighs. Alain peered down at this touch, observing him as teeth came over to worry at his bottom lip and Nelson felt his lower abdomen quiver. It was as though they were waiting for someone to do something—anything.

            He kicked closer to the edge until his elbows were on top of their legs and Alain’s mouth parted to let out a dull voice of delight. This made Nelson curl his toes, his eyes absently fell behind them and he could see Niki was sitting back and watching him expectedly. To cover it up, he slowly reached up and dragged his fingers over Alain’s upper arm, toying with the surface of his chest. He traveled over, swimming out and pulling sharply on Alain’s wrist. They let out a high pitched shriek as they tumbled into the pool and immediately shot up to the sun crossing both of their arms.

            “Baiseur!”, he chattered, the curls of his hair matted wetly on his forehead.

            "Who's the dog now?", they splashed him. 

          Nelson swam back, spitting out a bit of water at him as the other charged, pushing his shoulders under the water. He managed to get free, choking on laughter as his friend hid a hushed smile. Alain slowed, swabbing the water from his eyes and blinking with somber, hooded lashes. It was silent between them as the noise stalled, a still stand off and Nelson ran a tongue unintentionally over his bottom lip. Alain's lowered into the water as a flush creeped over their cheeks. Holding his breath, Nelson plunged below the surface until he reached the bottom of the pool and he could see a blurred face above peering down at him. He kicked off from the tile and curled a hand over Alain’s leg as he came up. They struggled and kicked him in the shoulder. Wincing, he grabbed at their upper thigh and launched himself up towards the surface. Breathing heavily though a trembling throat, he tightened his grip and Alain seethed out a sound through his parched lips. He drew nearer, almost as though he were seeing if they were going to anything about it. But they didn’t. They let their chests come together and he didn’t do anything when Nelson’s knee rubbed up in between their legs. A soft moan left Alain’s lips, pillow light and it made the other shift comfortably.

“Nelson!” Alain shot away from him instinctively and the Brazilian snapped over to one end of the pool. Niki was standing there, his arms crossed and still fully clothed. “I need you to come with me,” he demanded and Alain sunk lower in the water.

Nelson growled in frustration, shaking out his hair, “Get someone else, I’m busy.”

“Piquet, I swear to god—“

“Okay!”, he put up his hands in defense. He peered back at Alain one last time before hoisting himself up out of the pool. Dismayed, uncomfortable and unreleased, he snatched a towel off the back of Gilles’s chair and threw it off-minded over his shoulder. It was three in the afternoon and everyone was slipping their clothes back on while tying up undone shoe laces. He met Niki on one end of the pool, taking him by the upper arm and leading him away. He leaned over to his ear, “What the hell was that?”

“What was what?”

“That!”, he cried, waving his hands in front of him, “You!”

They appeared confused, “Me?”

Nelson arched his brows, “Yes you! I was this close to—“

Niki lowered the corners of his mouth down as they entered the lobby and a rush of air conditioning broke his skin into goosebumps. Teo was following quickly behind them. “You know what,” Niki shot up a flat palm and stopped him, “I don’t want to know what you want to do to Alain.” He shook his head, “You are a nasty man."

Nelson winked and Niki punched his stomach lightly, “Most certainly!”

Teo and Nigel met them at the reception with the ends of their hair drip-drying and a towel flung over the back of their neck. The rest soon followed from the pool with Alain coming in last (his short were still dripping onto his tanned legs). For as long as Nelson Piquet lives, forever and ever until the end of eternity and the stars die out (something like that) or the universe explodes, he will never forget the look on the pretty brunette’s face when Niki Lauda came up to the desk.

“Mr. Lauda?”, her auburn eyes scanned the lot behind him in the lobby. She began looking about as if expecting another person to take her place.

“I need a room,” he replied, leaning up against the counter.

“But you already—“

“—A suite,” he interrupted.

“For you?”, she edged cautiously.

He scanned back and Nelson pursed his lips, pinching his arm to keep himself from breaking down.

“For all of us.”

 

_______________________

 

At such short notice the best the front desk could manage for eighteen grown men was a newly built flat with one large room connecting off to a smaller area with a piano and couch. There wasn’t yet furniture but the drapes had been set up in a fashion over the shiny window panes. A newly lain carpet, the first thing that threw Nelson off was when the teenage bell-boy dropped a copper key into Didier’s hand and whispered that it was for the toilet. Now where was that one may ask? Not in the room which was the most reasonable place, but down the room from the front door meaning you’d have to risk getting hounded or the younger drivers turn coating out the door with the key leaving the rest to piss out the window. It was spacious to say the least, six windows, three on either side. Niki called up twenty mattresses. When they did arrive, Nelson was outside on the patio with John twitching in his still-damp cream shorts, relaxing in the afternoon weather. The sliding glass zipped, catching his attention and he drew his focus behind him.

            “Get inside,” Niki gestured to him and John peeled himself off the wall as they squeezed in through space in the doorway. Because of the heat all of the windows were open and a bit of the mattresses had been lain on the floor. He didn’t quite understand how Carlos was managing to sit there against the wall in gray sweatpants without fanning himself at all. A few of them had dragged chairs into the center of the room. Alain was there, laughing in his delicate, chuckling manner with Michele sitting next to him with a hand on his chin and a delicate smile. John sat in the corner and Nelson pulled up an extra chair next to Michele. Alain’s eyes skimmed over him when he sat, pulling a leg up onto his own knee and leaning an elbow on the joint.

            “Where did Niki go?”, Nelson questioned, attentive to the lot of them after noticing their sudden absence.

            Bruno looked to Andrea who stuck his thumbs into his pockets. “He is hassled by reporters,” he pointed his neck towards the closed door and distantly they could hear Niki’s voice raise slightly for just an instance through the shut door.

            “Have you gotten ultimatums?”, it couldn’t just be Riccardo and himself.

            “No,” Michele plucked his hand off of his jaw, “But the Arrows boys have.”

            “Here is the plan,” Nelson leaned over in his chair and laced his fingers in front of himself seriously, “When Jackie Oliver gets here, and you know he will, Mauro will use his boyish charm to lure him in here where I will slam the door behind, Andrea will put a pillowcase over his head to drown his screams then while he is on the ground everyone uses bats to--”

            It was unanimously shouted when Riccardo pushed him out of him chair onto the carpet: “Shut up, Piquet!”

 

_______________________

 

            The general good mood persisted around dinner with drink and good humor. Didier lightened up, giving a toast to the benefit of the journalists stalking at the next tables around them. Niki was speaking quietly with Teo who kept bouncing their leg on the floor while biting a cheek between teeth. Under the table with the setting sun outside over rolling chartreuse grass, he casually slipped his hand under the table, snaking it towards Alain’s thigh beside him. He landed it on his knee and Alain’s breath caught in his throat. Nigel sent a worried glance in his direction and Alain waved him away with a weak smile. They attempted to shove his hand off without making a scene but it was paper light, just a show and Nelson was able to cling on. He yearned to command his attention, that is why he drew his nails agilely up until he recessed at the top where their hips were jointed.

            Alain tipped into his lateral, restraining his legs shut. “What do you think you are doing?”, their breath was hot and sharp on his ear. It a whisper to an unnoticeable sin.

            Nelson squeezed the flesh there, sliding it into the inner skin of his leg, his fingers were beginning to break up through the leg of his shorts. “Everything for you,” he simpered in response, his lips brushing the shell of their ear. They shuddered as though he had electricity in the pads of his fingers.

            Again they pushed his hand off, “Not here.” Nelson was disappointed for a moment but then he played those two words in his head, _not here_.

            “So, elsewhere then?”, he grinned and Alain took a sip and pretended that he didn’t hear him. But he noticed the way they relaxed, unwinded themselves with something trembling within themselves in anticipation. He ended up joining Didier in telling shitty jokes and stories over the table. The entire time he kept the corner of his eye on Alain as if they were the only thing that could keep him waiting in a world that was forever on the move.

 

_________________________

 

            It was wasn’t until eight thirty at night when they finally returned to the suite. Niki unlocked the door and everyone piled back in. The Austrian stayed out to help Roberto speak to his manager who was standing outside the door with a furious frown and  clenching his fists. Roberto’s girlfriend was there too, crying softly into her hands. Niki returned half an hour later with Roberto red-eyed and his girlfriend in tow (no manager to be seen). He locked the door again behind him. There wasn’t a hint of conversation until Eliseo helped Rene push the grand piano through the doorway until the main room. Gilles attempted to play Chopin until Elio slipped in beside him and interrupted with ragtag. The mood picked up from there and all around it was harmonious. At nine a bang on the door shot everyone into silence with only Gilles tapping a few notes out into the air. Everyone turned to Niki as he stood up and pried open the door just a crack. Didier joined him and Nelson sat up off the mattress in preparation.

            “It’s Jacky Oliver,” Didier whispered and Nelson felt Carlos groan beside him.

            Nelson smirked and turned towards Mauro, “Are you ready, pretty boy?”

            Mauro frowned and crossed his arms, “Shut up, old man.”

            “Hey!”, he cried (he was only twenty-nine), “It is a good plan. Should I get the bats?”

            “Oliver brought the police,” Didier hissed in an almost murmur.

            “Oh shit.”

          That’s what everyone was thinking. Gilles leaped his hands off the piano so that they could hear what was being said. Oliver was shouting at Niki which didn’t make it so difficult and Nelson chuckled, making a face at the string of obscenities leaving his mouth. It was sudden but now Niki has his hands bare against the door as the police are attempting to worm themselves through the cracked doorway. Several drivers sprang to their feet, helping Niki push the door shut but they kept slipping back. The door was halfway open now and Nelson jumps up, quickly gesturing to Elio.

            “Get the piano!”, he shouted. He helped Elio and Gilles slide the piano over the carpet until it slammed to barricade the door. After the banging on the other end ceased and the lock had been snapped back into place, Niki’s hands were shaking and Nigel wiped a bead of sweat off of his forehead.

            “Can we kill him now?”, Nelson grinned, catching his breath. This time the only thing he got in response was ear splitting laughter. That was the soul of everything: the laughter. It was a good plan, wasn’t it?

 

_________________________

 

            The atmosphere became more comical around nine thirty when Niki dug the bathroom key out of his pocket, put it on the plate and placed that in the center of the floor. Nelson was lying on his stomach next to Carlos with his arms crossed beneath his chin. Niki made them all “cross their heart hope to die” that if they needed the bathroom they’d take the key and come back, placing it back on the plate. It was comical, all of the drivers making a cross over their chest with only Teo half heartedly performing the action. Nelson soon slipped off to the center of the room where Michele had placed a mattress up to Niki and Alain was sitting cross legged with Keke already snoring loudly next to him.

            Nelson plopped down on the end of Alain’s mattress and Niki perked his head up at him and tossed over onto his stomach. “Is he really already sleeping?”, Nelson pointed at Keke and Alain chuckled. For a moment Niki’s eyes landed on his and he raised a brow as if to say, _I know exactly what you are doing_. Nelson ignored him and scooted closer to Alain who seemed to think for a moment. The room had settled down and it was close to twelve now. Eventually Niki folded away and buried his face until his pillow (hat still on, he thought to to you). Alain fluttered when their knees knocked together and Nelson passed a quick glance around them.

            “Are you ready now?”, he whispered and Alain thought over a still second.

            “No,” his voice was a shrill, a harsh snap of attitude.

            Nelson came closer until their thighs were touching, “How about now?”

            This time Alain didn’t hesitate, “No." But his expression was softer and he was more relaxed as though he had teased the word out from the pit of his stomach and it was flirting with his tongue.

            Nelson’s hand came to rest on his hip through the blanket and they reclined until their head touched their pillow. Derek was sleeping beside them so before asking again, his hand entered the blanket and his fingers skimmed over the brush of their abdomen. “And,” he hissed through closed teeth, “Now?”

            They looked up, perhaps accidentally they grooved a tongue over their own bottom lip and Nelson sensed his stomach tighten for an instant. He craves him so badly he can almost feel how their mouth will taste. “Non,” but they are lying. It is visible in the way they allow eyes to lock as if they want him to view the effect he is having upon them. Nelson isn't wasting anymore time. A bellow rattles up in his throat when he snaps his hand all the way down and rubs Alain in between in legs through the fabric of his underwear.

            “You know, if you want to get warm you are going to have to touch a little fire first,” after he said that Alain grabbed his free wrist, making sure their eyes are still on his and ran the fingers softly over his lips. Nelson has not ever been so starving and he is being played with like a switchboard having his circuits controlled by the other man. _What happened to being in much more control?_ He has Alain rutting up gently against his hand as their gasps begin to fall tripping past their tongue.

            “Merde,” he moaned, shutting his eyes and pursing his lips tightly.

            Nelson extracted his hand slowly, he forced a narrow eyed grin as Alain opened his eyes puzzlingly. “I’ll get the key.”

 

_________________________

 

            After Alain had put his shorts back on and then ripped his t-shirt over his waist to hide the bulge in his pants, Nelson lead him around everybody, tapping the small of his back as he snatched the key off the plate on the floor. Niki looked up at the tapping sound, following them as they opened the door. Nelson paused a moment before pulling the door closed with a wink in their direction. He could practically see Niki’s expression sticking out at him with a groan as the lock clicked. The hallway couldn’t be any longer, his hand was running over Alain’s ass and he could feel them loosening beneath his touch. He slid the key into the door and before it was even fully open he had pushed the Frenchman inside, slamming the door shut. It was still for a second until Nelson grabbed their hips and forced their back to the door. They stared for a moment, Alain’s knees straddling his legs open and the wide eyes blinking up at him with shielded, heavy lashes. He pressed his lips to the column of their neck in an intimate notion and they balled their fists up in the front of his shirt. He grazed his teeth over their pulse and they whimpered slightly as though they were worried over the safety of their veins. Their hips move, a rhythm they started on their own, their crotch rubbing up against his.

            He paused suddenly, his forehead resting against Alain’s. Nelson realized they didn’t sound quite the same when they were in pleasure. It was as though they weren’t quite prepared, they didn’t know how they were supposed to be. Inexperience. “What am I going to do with you?”, he challenged easily and for the first time the steel that once riveted through his core cushioned into clay. He brushed his fingers teasingly over the cuff of their jaw and they bent into the touch.

            Through the murky lightening their lips came forward, their nose sliding against his and a hand cradled the side of his neck. “Anything you want,” Alain ran their chests together, grabbing Nelson’s palm and moving it until it broke through the waistband of his shorts and his briefs, his hand squeezing the area there gently. Alain muttered his name through swollen, wet lips.

            “Do you like it?”, Nelson canvassed shortly, licking his way into their mouth again.

            They snatched his collar, constrained their lips together and until shoving him away, “More, please, please: more.”

            You didn’t have to tell him twice.

            Nelson bit into his inner mouth, he swaddled his hand over the back of their thighs until Alain’s legs were tangled around his waist and they were nibbling against his ear. He carried him and placed them sitting on the rim of sink. He slipped Alain’s shorts down to his ankles until they were bare from the waist down. Their fingers came forward, unbuttoning the lining of his shorts until they fell to the floor and the heat was making Nelson’s skin slip. He’s fingering them once, twice and three times and all the while Alain is gasping and hitting the mirror with the crown of his head. Their white knuckles pluck his shirt over his head as if desperate to navigate every inch of rib and muscle over his chest. Pinches of pain crinkle at the corner of Alain’s eyes when he pushes into him and their nails are dig in the meat of his shoulders. At the nape of their neck he tasted pleasures of the world, a hankering of addiction.

            He cannot help talking either.

            “Look at you,” he nudged his head forward onto their chest and begins to nip at the skin there. “Looking so pretty for me, Alain, so pretty.” They knot their fingers through his hair and the subtle tugs they give is making Nelson stiffen with pleasure. But Alain doesn’t last long, he goes out with a siss, the veins in his neck tightening as he tears into Nelson’s skin. Nelson only rides him closer and closer and with a grunt he’s spilling out over his stomach. It is quiet for a long minute, Nelson’s head fallen against Alain’s shoulder and both are panting. Lips carve over a fine edge of jaw that shapes his breaths. It was a heart of gold and a stardust soul that made it beautiful in a blind, unrecognizable way.

            They both clean themselves up after the sink is clear. The door is locked behind them and not a word is said but Nelson plays teeth on his tongue when he sees how shaky Alain is holding himself up. Nearly everyone is asleep by the time they return, tip-toeing over heads and holding Alain’s wrist behind him. Alain drops onto his mattress with a sigh, Nelson presses his fingers slowly to his cheek as if to say silently: _that was magic_. They close their eyes with a reticent smile and throw the blanket over themselves. As soon as Nelson stepped away, still buzzing from what they had done, Niki propped his head up to look at him.

            “You were gone a while,” Niki moved his brows up.

            Nelson shrugged, sitting on the carpet beside him, “Bathroom break.”

            “The both of you?”

            “Yes.”

            Niki shakes his head, “You were gone half an hour.”

            “Ten minutes,” Nelson lied with a twitch of his eye, “You must of fallen asleep.”

            This made Niki simper in a rare gesture, a grin that made his teeth gently poke through to sight. “It better of been worth it,” he laid back down.

            “Every fuck is worth it, however, our session was a little short if you’d like to repeat it. I am sure James would--”

            A pillow was snapped at his leg with a groan and he shielded his face before crawling across the room. He got onto the other side of his double mattress with Elio and Alain’s voice in his brain soothing him to sleep.

 

_________________________

 

            He was one of the last ones awake the next morning. Riccardo was at his side rocking him awake and Nelson nearly threw a blind punch in his direction. He looked up sleepily and perhaps (definitely) angrily,  “What do you want?”

            “Teo defected in the middle of the night,” he rolled his eyes and sat down next to him. “Took the key and never came back.”

            Nelson smirked, “Are you sure he didn’t just die?”

            They arched their brows, “In the bathroom?”

            “Must of been a shit.”

 

_________________________

 

            They were sitting at breakfast and Alain is licking powdered sugar from the tips of his fingers next to him. Intentionally or unintentionally Nelson doesn’t quite know; t was erotic either way. _You are trouble, havoc really, but the charm of their smile dared you to love_. Didier got everyone's attention at one end of the table, banging a knife on his glass. They had a off-minded expression plastered to their features.

            “We won.”

            That Friday morning they returned to the paddock, each charged a large sum for what they had done. He showed up at the Renault garage after final practice still in his racing uniform. Alain was taking off his helmet and shaking the sweat out of his hair as he began to undo the collar of his racing suit. Nelson snuck up behind him, giving him a fright when he wrapped his arms from behind over his waist. They leaned back, resting the back of their head onto Nelson’s shoulder.

            “You really cannot keep your hands off me?”, he snapped playfully, turning around and facing him.

            Nelson shook his head, “With the way your tight little ass handled it? Absolutely not.”

            Nelson qualified second that weekend and was in the top three until he spun off the track to a hault. Alain ended up wining the race and all Nelson could think of was how much he wishes he was there spraying champagne over him (just so that he would lick it off). He returned to his hotel room with nothing but a beer and prepared for his flight the next morning. He was playing up fantasies in his head and just about sliding a hand in between his pants when knocking echoed through his room. He sighed, buttoned his pants and padded to the door, he opened it.

            Alain was standing there, stiffly postulated in the center of the door frame. They glared at each other for an extended occasion.

            “Lonely?”, they asked, running their eyes slowly over his body.

            Nelson only smirked and stepped away from the door to let them in. "Who can't keep their hands away now?"

            They were together; it was hard to remember the rest.

            Alain Prost had more effect upon him than any other man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this driver's strike actually did happen! Everything I described (really accept the sex but we'll never know won't we?). Writing this made me like it. Help me. Anyways you want to read about it, check out a post I made on Tumblr here on it: 
> 
> https://formularacing.tumblr.com/post/174346056660/formula-1-history-1982-south-african-grand-prix
> 
> As usually you can contact me on Tumblr @sonofhistory or @formularacing
> 
> PLEASE comment. I read and respond to every one (it motivates me to write more meaning you guys get more content). Thank you so much! <3


	5. Chapter Five | Nigel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flu, crashes and hair-pulling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place Japanese GP, 1988.

**\----- The Rival -----**

 

          Nelson was bracing himself over the sink in the bathroom. Spitting into the running faucet, he cleared his throat and tossed his neck back to cough. A groan escaped him. God, he hated being sick and staring into the mirror in front of him at his appearance only made him feel older (far, far older) even though he was only thirty-five (it felt like a century instead). Blinking, he shook the sweat out of his eyes and the exhaustion in his bones. He feels aged. He really has, hasn’t he? But Nelson doesn’t want to think about this so he puts his head down and purses his eyes shut in an attempt to shake off his double vision. The door opened behind him and he lifted his head up, peering into the mirror first for the intruder and then revolving around while keeping the heels of his hands on the edge for stability. 

          Of course, of all men it was Nigel Mansell. Standing there always like an actor poised and ready for a play. Typically the theatrical one of the bunch. They observed each other for a moment and Nigel’s cheeks are flushed, his short tawny hair massing against the high start of his forehead. They frowned and paused a moment when they noticed him as if he had personally insulted him somehow by just breathing in his general direction

          “Look, it’s the man who crashed into me,” they crossed their arms over their chest. 

          Nelson scoffed, “Come on, Nigel, you know damn well that was your fault.”

          “A malfunction,” they grinned like the delightful fellow they were because it was true: they both knew who was at fault. At least Nelson was able to recover from it only to retire because of his health. “You are pale, are you okay?”, Nigel wasn’t concerned though, he was just asking the question for the sake of being a nice person. 

          “No, I am dying,” Nelson rolled his eyes and reclined back against the row of sinks. He shook him off, “I am fine.”

          For some odd reason Nigel approached, came closer and rested up next to him on the sinks. “I heard you retired with illness, that sounds pretty bloody awful,” he chuckled and hung his head. 

          “You know,” Nelson turned away from him and crossed his arms, “I came into here to forget that happened: you are not helping me at all.”

          “That bad?”, Nigel winced, “Here let me see you.” He jolted out a hand towards the back of Nelson’s overalls to grab him back towards him. 

          Nelson jerked away with a grunt of disgust, “Get your hands off of me.”

          They didn’t listen, instead they simply stepped forward and adjusted their grip until it clasped at the back of their collar. But when he pulled him back it accidentally snatched up handful of raven hair at the nape of his neck. Nelson felt his throat jut open and he stumbled back due to the grip. Unexpectedly, a low moan escaped his lips. Nigel snapped his hand away when he stumbled backwards into his chest. Their hands gripped at his shoulders and it was silent for an occasion. Nelson was silently praying that they did not hear that and even he is appalled by the sound that just left his mouth. 

          Nigel cleared his throat, “Did you just--”

          “No.”

          Instead they suddenly smiled and led up a hand towards the back of his head again, locking eyes with him as if he wished him to know of his impure intentions. Nelson sensed him thread his fingers there for a minute, teasing him gently until he tugged at the strands once again. Another soft sound followed and Nelson clamped his eyes shut as if to suffocate the noise from coming up. “I believe you just did,” he smirked, “Did you enjoy that?”

          For a second Nelson questioned if he should just lie but then he knows Nigel would only rip on his hair again to drive home the truth. He hesitated but eventually whispered out, “Yes.”

          “God,” Nigel quivered and placed his hand on his inner thigh. “Are you going to be a whore for me, Nelson?”, he took out one hand and flipped the lock on the door to trap him. Nelson didn’t say anything, only widened his eyes and blinked. “Are you? Answer me,” he demanded, pushing a hand up between his legs. Nelson stifled out a groan through clenched teeth as his uniform was pulled down over his shoulders until it rolled up on his thighs. 

          “I will,” it was barely audible. 

          Nigel snorted and dug a hand down into his underwear, “That’s what I thought.” It was spectacular what those hands did to him eventually, drawing him out into the cold air and making him tremble with his legs open wide like a needy teenager. He was sat up next to one of the sinks with Nigel gripping his thighs and folding him nearer. When he eventually entered him his eyes were watching him like a hawk circling its prey. Half way through the door began to bang and Nigel nearly pulled out to quickly tug his pants back up. 

          “Don’t you fucking dare,” Nelson grabbed his shoulders and dug his nails into the flesh, “The door is locked.” Nigel paused and his head was moved back towards him by a hand on his jaw, “If you stop now, I swear I will never fucking forgive you.”

          Nelson finished first, holding back a scream in his throat as Nigel continues slamming into him with the same speed as before and his hands pushed back on the mirror behind his head to hold himself up. They let out a low groan and their movements shuddered to the stop inside of him. He is tugging his clothing back over his legs when Nigel suddenly laughs audibly and it draws his attention. 

          Nelson frowned, “What the fuck is so funny?”

          Nigel smiled and turned to him, glancing over his shoulder, “I can’t believe Nelson Piquet, three time world champion, loves to have his hair pulling kink.”

          "At least I _have_ a world championship," he was pushed off the counter after that with a rough shove.

          Nigel Mansell was truly the only one who dared to command him (and win). 

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, contact me on Tumblr @sonofhistory or @pieregasly
> 
> Like what you read? Be sure to comment and kudos! I reply to all comments and they motivate me to write more.


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